


To Be Determined.....

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifting, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werevolves in the city....there will be violence and slash.  Don't like? Then don't read.  The intro notes sum this story up much better....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: (To Be Determined.....)  
Chapter I: Enter The Wolf  
Rating: M (for future violence and sexual content)  
Relationship: Finch/Reese (there will be SLASH....consider yourself warned)

Notes: Alas, my brain is just as intrigued at the thought of introducing lycanthrope into the PoI universe as other authors seem to be. So, I apologize if the appearance of this plot bunny is unfortunately co-incidental with others of its ilk. The idea will not leave my head and so to exorcise it (so that I can continue working on the next chapter of _Finite Chances; Infinite Possibilities_ ), I present this introduction. Fear not, I will be continuing both FC: IP and this story as time progresses. In the meantime, enjoy. Thank you for your kind attention.  
-AKMars

wwwwwwwwwwwww

 

A silvery, gray shadow slipped in and out among the birch trees. But for the occasional quiet crunch of old leaves beneath its paws, the visitor made no sound...at times seeming to be part of the landscape itself.

It paused at the edge of a clearing, eyes scanning the open field for signs of movement. The black nose flared, searching for even the faintest hint of strangeness.

_Damp grass, moss...acrid tang of fox urine_...the watcher gave a soft snort of contempt for the small canine. _Wood, rock...smoke_. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The shadow circled the clearing, keeping just inside the treeline...slowly approaching a one-story cabin that stood at the far end. Other than a thin wisp of white rising from the chimney stack, the house appeared deserted.

In the pre-dawn gloom, the eyes watched the back porch with great interest. Charcoal tipped ears swiveled back and forth, straining to pick up any sound that didn't fit in this world. All was well. A large shape trotted from the trees up the porch steps and disappeared into the open mudroom at the back of the cabin.

A wolf stood just inside the cramped confines of the log walls. He was tall but very lean, unlike the bulkier members of his species. His pelt was silver-gray tipped with black on his back, legs, the tips of his tail and ears. Also unlike other wolves, his eyes were blue rather than amber or brown. At some point in the past, he'd been injured; his right hind leg turned inward, causing him to limp slightly.

The wolf lowered his head and closed his eyes; breath coming in sharp pants as it's back bowed in pain. A whine was forced through clenched jaws, escalating into a yelp of agony as the animal fell over on its side, legs writhing. The wolf yelped again, the sound changing abruptly into a cry of human pain as it shifted from lupine to man.

The body of a pale-skinned, very thin man lay in the beast's place. Naked, hair disheveled; smears of mud painted his hands and feet. The man's eyelids flickered open, his piercing blue gaze the only outward sign that he was the same creature. 

Harold Finch levered himself up from the mudroom floor, one hand grasping the wall to steady himself as he made the final internal changes from wolf back into human. His balance restored, Finch dug the spare key out of its hiding place and let himself into the cabin kitchen. He needed a shower and food and tea, precisely in that order. Locking the door behind him, he limped into the bathroom.

The full moon had passed once again and for the next twentysomething-odd days the business man could go back to his usual routine and pretend that he was just like all the other inhabitants of New York City. Well, other than being thought dead of course......

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwww


	2. Reese

wwwwwwwwwwww

 **2010** _....2011....2012_

He'd been bitten in 2008, while he was still a good soldier, doing the CIA's dirty work. Reese often wondered how much his altered perspective of what the government asked of him had to do with his wolf's outlook on life or his supposed conscience. In any case, he'd begun to question the validity of the orders that were passed on to him. When he aired those questions to his handler, she'd turned up dead 48 hours later and his erstwhile friend Mark had been sent to apprehend him for her murder.

Fortunately, the operative had also discovered by then that he could change at any time, not just when the moon was full. He'd shifted and disappeared from the cheap hotel room he had paid a week in advance for. When Snow arrived, all he found was a half-unpacked suitcase and John's cover passports.

The wolf-Reese took his time traveling east towards New York. His original plan was to disappear in the Adirondacks, bypassing the city altogether. By blind chance, he stumbled upon an unlocked Winnebago and took advantage of the situation. Reese showered and scrounging fresh clothes, food and the serendipity of the vacationers' stash of money, moved on. His luck put him in such a good mood that he decided to take the bus into town and attempt to enjoy himself before continuing north.

His lupine-sharpened senses forced him to take refuge in Central Park until they could translate the incredible amount of sensory data this new environment was throwing at them. John settled onto a bench and adopting an expression that was just broody enough to insure he wouldn't be bothered, watched the city passing by.

Reese's wolf wasn't troubled by the fact that he was alone. Some wolves operated that way. If the opportunity arose to become part of a pack, it might take it...or not. John felt his lips twist into a smirk. _Not that there is much chance of that happening. Even in as populated a place as this is, I doubt there's another wolf around._ He mulled the thought over as he began to relax. Although the ex-operative wasn't gregarious by nature, he sometimes missed the company of others...missed helping.

The few times he felt good about the work he'd done was when the chance turned up to help someone while undercover. The widowed mother and her young child in Beirut had never known who their benefactor was. The little girl would find food, household items or the odd toy on their doorstep some mornings. The woman only knew that the men with guns who'd been making her life hell now left her alone as she went on her business about town.

_You don't exist anymore though, do you John? Hard to help when you can't get a job, rent a room or show your face for that matter..._

Reese stood up and moved off along the paved path. Each time he reached an entrance to the park, something pulled him back inside. He spent the rest of the afternoon and the better part of the night skirting the edges of the park. The op evaded the police on their rounds with contemptuous ease, still trying to decide what to do. His wolf was prompting him to find a place to sleep; it liked the park...feeling more secure within the greenspace. John sought out a sheltered gulley. He stripped off quickly, folding his clothing and stashing it under a bush.

Reese the man stood for a moment, feeling the cool night breeze move over his skin. He bent double and giving a quiet grunt shifted smoothly from human to lupine. A black, well-muscled wolf occupied the space the man had, his green eyes searching the night for possible threats. Triangular ears swiveled back and forth and his nose flared, taking in the scents of the park. _Grass, trees, water...rabbit._

The black wolf licked his chops and slipped out of his thicket, moving silently as he back-trailed the cottontail he'd smelled. An hour later, stomach full and warm, the wolf returned to the gulley and curled up underneath the brush to sleep.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwww

 _2010...._ **2011** _....2012_

John Reese was nursing one hell of a hangover. He'd taken to greeting his return to human form these days with a bender; saving as much as he could from his panhandling forays towards a fresh bottle of rye for the morning after the full moon.

The fact that his increased metabolic rate meant he burned through the alcoholic buzz faster than before he'd been turned only made the subsequent crash back to reality all the harder to deal with. Lycanthrope didn't spare him the blinding headaches or sensitivity to light that made opening his eyes a torture. He spent his most recent transformation in the place that was the closest thing he'd called a home in years...a culvert on the far side of Central Park. It was sheltered and private and a vagrant couldn't ask for much more than that.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwww


	3. Adjustments

Title: (To Be Determined...)

Chapter III: Adjustments  
Rating: M (for future violence and sexual content)  
Relationship: Finch/Reese (there will be SLASH...consider yourself warned)

wwwwwwwwwwwww

_2010..._ **2011** _...2012_

When Finch logged on to his computer, he dreaded what he might find. He'd been away for almost forty-eight hours and anything could have happened while he was indisposed. He sighed in relief as he noted that no new numbers had been flagged. Out of habit, the billionaire glanced at the list attached to the library wall, its tangled string limbs linking each number to a corresponding news blurb or photograph...tangible evidence of his failures.

He exhaled in frustration, settling back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. Finch didn't bother with the appearance of glasses when he was alone. They were merely window-dressing to keep anyone from figuring out what he'd become. The truth was that all his natural infirmities as well as the injuries from his 'accident' had healed when he'd been turned. Ironic that they were the reason he'd been targeted by a rogue wolf in the first place.

The pain of his first transformation was nothing to that of the titanium plates and screws, once so necessary to stabilize his cervical vertebrae, being forced out through his skin by healing tissues on the day he was bitten. He must have blacked out, because all he remembered afterwards was waking up next to the bloodied pile of medical hardware.

In the beginning, Finch had played around with his newfound abilities; lifting heavy objects, trying out his more sensitive hearing and corrected vision. It was his acute sense of smell that was hardest for the recluse to assimilate. Just walking the streets of the city the morning after he was attacked was pure hell. The stench of automobiles, unwashed bodies, perfume, food and chemicals was overpowering and Finch had ducked into an alley to be sick.

It had taken time, but he'd adjusted to all the changes...except having to shift. The first twenty-five days after he'd been bitten, he had been too caught up in enjoying his newfound strength. He'd taken a run through Central Park the following night to reassure himself that he was whole again...the freedom of it was intoxicating. _Better than I was, more like. My eyes had never been normal, my physical stamina far from the best._ The night of the first full-moon; of his first shift from human to wolf had shattered that little fantasy world...

wwwwwwwwwwwww

**2010** _...2011...2012_

He'd returned to the library just before sundown, feeling restless and irritated. The billionaire had gone so far as to remove his waistcoat and tie, out of character for him certainly...yet nothing had helped him relax. All he remembered about the moon rising had been searing pain that brought him to his knees. Finch had woken the next morning, naked on the library floor, his clothes in shreds and his bedroom a wreck. Although he now remained conscious of himself while he wore his other shape, Finch still was at the mercy of the needs of his wolf.

After that first change, the recluse did some research and chose Central Park as his shifting place. Finch struggled to reconcile the wolf with his human half and felt he was making some progress. It was three months later that the rogue showed up.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwww

**2010** _...2011...2012_

Reese found the anonymity of being homeless suited his wolf. In the four months he'd 'lived' in Central Park, the ex-operative had established a territory that took care of his needs when he shifted and a loose-knit web of human contacts that supported his panhandler persona. He played the part of the PTSD veteran well, too well John thought in his darker moments, engendering just enough pity for his condition and embarrassed gratitude for his past service from passersby to get decent handouts.

As summer had shifted into autumn, Reese's sojourn had felt almost like a vacation. No-one, least of all the CIA even knew he was alive. Certainly no-one would think to track him here. The few times he'd caught his reflection in a store window or the side of a building, John had smiled. He now resembled his lupine half in actuality. Reese had let his hair and beard grow out.

He was on his way back to his current sleeping place when he caught it. _wolf...rogue..._

John's wolf snarled, waking up enough to recognize the potential threat to it's territory. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to maintain control. _Not yet..._ he cautioned his other half. _Wait...watch..._

_HOME!_ his wolf urged him.

_Home_ , he agreed and quickened his pace to the hidden ditch he'd claimed.

At dusk, Reese stripped out of his clothing and shifted. The black wolf snorted, shaking out its coat and searched the night air. There was no sign of the other wolf in the immediate area, but Reese knew that didn't mean it wasn't in the park. He struck out on recon loop of the park perimeter, making certain to keep his nose directed into the wind as much as possible. If the rogue was still here, his wolf would find it.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwww

**2010** _...2011...2012_

Finch was feeling edgy again. It was two days before the full moon and he could put it off no longer. He would have to make a trip to the park to check his shift location and take precautions. The billionaire had begun putting together a 'kit' of things that he would need after his night as a wolf. Fresh clothing, wet wipes, hand sanitizer, travel bottle of mouthwash and deodorant, all tucked neatly into a hiker's daypack with $40 in cash and a safe credit card; would be cached where he would be sure to find it. Although his wolf controlled his senses during the full moon night, Finch remained aware of what was happening...he considered this a step forward at least.

The recluse changed into the dark gray spandex track suit he wore when he went running, layering a sweatshirt over it and pulling the black fleece cap he favored over his ears. Finch strapped the daypack on and slipped out of the library side door. He paused for a moment, his wolf surfacing long enough to confirm there were no threats in the vicinity. Harold moved out in an easy lope, his stride long and relaxed as he headed to Central Park.


	4. Changes and Challenges

Title: (To Be Determined.....)  
Chapter IV: Changes and Challenges  
Rating: M (for future violence and sexual content)  
Relationship: Finch/Reese (there will be SLASH....consider yourself warned)

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Finch strapped the daypack on and slipped out of the library side door. He paused for a moment, his wolf surfacing long enough to confirm there were no threats in the vicinity. Harold moved out in an easy lope, his stride long and relaxed as he headed to Central Park._

**_24 Hours Later...._ **

Georgie knew what he'd seen...knew what the huge, shaggy-coated animal was. Mr. Harvey, who ran the pawn shop where Georgie had taken some of his mother's stuff to sell, knew all about the werewolves too. The old man always had time to tell the junkie legends of the loup-garou, the nighthunters, the ones who stalked the woods. So it was with Mr. Harvey that Georgie shared his story of seeing the beast while looking for a mark to beg from. 

The old man listened gravely and then put up the CLOSED sign and locked the shop’s front door; insuring that they would not be disturbed. _Only the cautious survive after all._

“Georgie, I tell you this. There is only one thing that will kill a werewolf...silver.”

Mr. Harvey pulled a worn leather case from underneath the counter. He opened it, revealing a .38. The gun itself was no different than any other of its kind. The ammunition stored next to it, however bore looking at. The bullets were of pure silver, the kind that almost glowed with an inner light. The shop owner pushed the case towards the junkie, who stared at its contents with reverence.

“Georgie....if you swear to kill the evil, then you may take this to do it with. Will you?”

The younger man licked his lips and nodded. “I’ll kill it, Mr. Harvey.” 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

**_Evening of the Full Moon_ **

Harold Finch strolled along through the North Woods, nose buried in a throwaway paperback, trying his best to appear nonchalant. As soon as he reached a point where the treeline abutted the path, the recluse slipped inside the screen of vegetation and drew a deep breath of relief. It was close enough to dusk that his ruse of reading would not have held up for much longer and Finch was starting to get jittery in any case. 

The billionaire moved deeper into the forested area, towards the Loch. The sound of water rushing over the rocky outcroppings would mask any noise he might make as he shifted. Finding a place where he felt marginally safe, Finch pulled his sweatshirt over his head, dropping it to the ground beside him. 

The cheap canvas sneakers were next and Harold fumbled with the drawstring on his sweatpants. The recluse felt his cheeks flush. He knew from bitter experience that if he tried to wait for full dark before disrobing completely he’d wind up getting tangled in his remaining clothing. The billionaire took a deep breath and stepped out of his sweatpants. Trial and error had also taught him to forgo underwear on full moon nights. 

He _hated_ this part most of all. For one who was so precise and modest in his habits, it galled Finch to be forced to strip naked in a public place. He stood in the gathering night, hands clasped in front of his crotch. He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life as in those minutes he waited for the moon to rise. 

The moments before his change were the hardest. Finch felt as if his skin was crawling off his back. He twitched his shoulder blades, jerking his head to the side as his sense of hearing ramped up. 

The increase in his sensory acuity always preceded his shift. It was as if his body were trying to read the surrounding area before committing to the change, knowing that while the transformation was taking place it would be defenseless. 

A whimper pushed its way through Finch’s lips and he crouched down in the leaf litter, touching his fingers to the earth. _Soon.....soon._ A peculiar sense of disconnection took him, as if he were one step removed from the rest of the world. The slender man trembled, feeling like a live wire was jolting electricity through his body. 

The recluse bowed his head, opening his mouth to try and ease the tightness in his jaws. _Relax....don’t fight it!_ Harold had attempted to hold in his wolf the first time he changed and had fainted from the blinding pain that had burst through his skull. He cried out, the sound garbling into a yelp as his body slipped from human to lupine. 

The gray and silver wolf stood on splayed legs, panting as the moonlight streamed over him, washing out his markings with its intensity. The animal shook itself, sneezing as a stray hair was sucked into its nose. Harold Finch the man was no longer calling the shots. His wolf peered out of the thicket then cautiously moved out along a bandit trail. 

Nostrils flaring, the wolf took stock of his world _humans....semen...male, female...latex, sour reek of alcohol....water....leaves....earth_. It’s ears swiveled back and forth as it followed the trail, settling at half-mast as it detected no unusual sounds. 

Finding food was of paramount importance. The wolf was always hungry after a change, its metabolism stressed by the re-shaping of its body. Nose to the ground, the silver-gray male went into stalking mode...it was time to hunt.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

**_Moonrise: Central Park_ **

Strengthened by his most recent score, Georgie staked out a corner of Central Park near where he’d seen the wolf. The .38 was a comforting weight in his jacket pocket and the junkie kept as still as it was possible for him to be as he waited.

  
**ooooooooo**   


_The black wolf made his way through the undergrowth, following a path that originally been made by the park’s foxes. He’d claimed it for himself almost at once and the vulpines had deserted their territory when they found the wolf’s scent marks. It amused the larger canid to know that they had given up without a fight._

  


**ooooooooo**  


The gray male polished off the last scraps of the feral cat it had killed, licking blood from his chops. It wasn't his first choice of meals but meat was meat and the tom had been easy prey; it's attention fixed on a female in heat. Having a full belly took the edge off the wolf's anxiety and he was content to explore the park at a sedate pace. He marked a couple of trees to show ownership of this hunting ground and then struck out along the edge of the North Woods area.

  
**ooooooooo**  


 _The dark one stopped short, nose to the air as it picked up a strange scent....there....along the outskirts of the green space, something was different...wrong. He snuck forward to check out the source of the smell._

  
**ooooooooo**  


Georgie’s drug sharpened sense of hearing picked up the faint crunching sound of paws on gravel. He pulled the pistol out and cocked it, saying a silent prayer that his aim would be true and he could tell Mr. Harvey that he’d vanquished evil. Peering out of his hiding place in the thicket, the junkie watched the clearing opposite him.

A dark shadow flitted in and out of the edge of the trees in the gathering night. Georgie lifted the pistol, bracing his wrist against a tree trunk to help steady himself. He closed one eye and sighted down the barrel...waiting....waiting, until....

**_~CRACK~_**

The .38 bucked in his hand, smoking as it discharged it’s bullet. Georgie leapt to his feet and burst out of the thicket, seeing the gray shadow tumble out of the treeline and into the clearing. A yelp came from the downed wolf. The junkie’s primal fear took over and he stumbled out of the park, trying to put as much distance between himself and the creature he’d shot.

  
**ooooooooo**  


 _The black wolf stood at the top of the hollow and watched the sick-smelling human fire its gun, dropping the rogue wolf. He watched the other male writhe around on the ground, then attempt to rise._

  
**ooooooooo**  


In the hollow below the gray male struggled to his feet; staggering as he attempted to balance on three limbs. His right rear leg was tucked up against his stomach and he limped into the surrounding shrubs as quickly as his infirmity allowed.

  
**ooooooooo**  


 _Lupine they both might be, but the wounded one was ‘not pack’ and so John felt no impetus to protect. The black wolf turned his back, loping away over the greensward back to his den, his own safety of concern at the moment. The stranger would survive...or not. If it did live, they would meet another day._

  
**ooooooooo**  


Finch collapsed as soon as he was sure that he was out of sight. His jaws gaped, tongue lolling out as his breath came in harsh pants. Although the shot was a through and through, the bullet had cracked his thighbone. Microscopic traces of silver from the slug impeded the healing process. It wasn't enough to kill him but as the torn ends of bone re-knit, they twisted on themselves, pulling the angle of the wolf's limb towards his body.

The gray wolf rolled onto his side, grunting as fire lanced through his hip again. The pain of the traumatic injury had pushed the wolf aside, allowing Finch’s human awareness to surface. _Got to get out of here...back to the library...now._

Using every ounce of his willpower, the recluse propped himself up on his good legs and limped back into the trees, heading towards the place that both his selves considered their refuge. He couldn’t suppress the quiet whimpers that escaped him as his injured leg brushed the ground from time to time. All that mattered was getting home, as fast as he could.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Finch woke the next morning, shivering, in the middle of the library floor. His teeth chattered and sweat coated his body. The fever from his silver induced infection had broken and now that the billionaire had returned to his human form, he was freezing. 

He tried to stand and pain like a thousand knives lanced through his right leg. Harold grasped the seat of his chair, levering his body up off the floor and bit back a scream as the intense agony of trying to put weight on his right foot took him again. He sobbed as he struggled to cross the room by hanging onto the bookshelves. 

Once he’d reached the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. The gunshot wound had healed over but the dark scar left behind gave mute testimony to the silver bullet that he’d taken. The billionaire’s thigh had straightened a bit with his transformation back to his human shape but it still canted inward and his hip had stiffened, pain spiking up the joint with each movement he made.

Harold slammed his fist into the wall, punching through the plaster. Cursing under his breath he pulled his hand back through the hole he’d just created and rinsed off the blood and debris. His knuckles healed in minutes but the desolation that pulled at his soul wouldn’t disperse as easily.

_I survived being turned, I’ve adapted, I’ve changed and now this?! My one consolation in this damned farce was being whole again....how can I even try to help the irrelevants now?_

There was no other option. The back up plan that he’d initially discarded looked to be Finch's one chance at completing his self-imposed mission. He would have to try and find someone who could physically do the job. Someone with weapons experience, preferably ex-military or FBI...someone who wasn’t disabled, like Harold was. 

The billionaire slumped down to sit on the commode cover, his heart heavy. It was the only way... _what use is a crippled werewolf, anyway?_


	5. Out of The Night

Title: To Be Determined....  
Chapter V: Out of The Night  
Rating: NC-17 (violence, horror and sexual situations in future chapters)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese (there will be slash....you have been warned)  
Genre: Supernatural, AU (Finch & Reese are werewolves)

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_2010......_ **2011** _....2012_

**Previously on 'To Be Determined...':**

Harold slammed his fist into the wall, punching through the plaster. Cursing under his breath, he pulled his hand back through the hole and rinsed off the blood and debris. His knuckles healed in minutes but the desolation that pulled at his soul wouldn’t disperse as easily.

_I survived being turned, I’ve adapted, I’ve changed and now this?! My one consolation in this damned farce was being whole again....how can I even try to help the irrelevants now?_

There was no other option. The back up plan that he’d initially discarded looked to be Finch's one chance at completing his self-imposed mission. He would have to try and find someone who could physically do the job. Someone with weapons experience, preferably ex-military or FBI...someone who wasn’t disabled, like Harold was.

The billionaire slumped down to sit on the commode cover, his heart heavy. It was the only way... _what use is a crippled werewolf, anyway?_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

**_one week later_ **

Against all his hopes to the contrary, Finch’s body had healed as much as it was going to from his silver-inflicted wounds. Unlike the injuries he’d received as collateral damage to Nathan’s murder, at least his spine wasn’t compromised this time. The blinding headaches he’d been subject to before being turned didn’t come back, nor did the neck cramps. 

Finch's hip and right leg however would never be normal again. Coupled with a pronounced limp, the trace amounts of silver in his system weakened his stamina. He tired almost as easily now as he did before his change. The billionaire had lost control when he realized this. A storage room on the first floor of the library gave mute testimony of this fact; the furniture within it had been reduced to splinters.

Harold had settled into a resigned depression; concentrating on programming a specific set of parameters into his Machine’s search patterns. He knew what he needed to find to help him in his work and preferred to have multiple options available in case a candidate didn’t prove suitable.

Dutifully he still recorded the numbers that came in and added them to his list; burying his guilt and grief deep inside himself. It galled him that if he’d not been so wrapped up in bemoaning the fact that he was a shifter he could have made a difference. The physical abilities that being a werewolf had brought him would have made all the difference. That was destroyed now, thanks to one superstitious idiot with a pistol and decent aim. 

Finch turned to get his coat from its wall hook and shrugged into it. It was close to midnight and there was nothing more for him to do for the moment. Best to retire to one of his nearby apartments for the night and try to sleep. He shut off the reading room lights and was making his way to the stairs when he heard a faint chime from his computer. 

The recluse returned to his workstation and hit a couple of keys. A box popped up in the centre of the screen.

**Source: metro_subway_camera_889  
Subject: potential_asset_male  
Status: violence_imminent  
Action: advise_Admin/Sysop**

Another window popped up, this time a vid link to the subway camera network. It’s black and white footage showed what appeared to be a homeless man slumped in one of the car’s seats; whiskey bottle dangling from a limp hand.

The billionaire watched in fascination as a group of young toughs entered the car and started harassing the only other passenger. After scaring off the African-American man, the group’s leader turned his attention to the oblivious homeless man. He tried to snatch the vagrant’s bottle only to find his hand caught in a vice-like grip.

_“Good God!”_

Finch blinked…he hadn’t even seen the man move. He has to be ex-military. he thought as the tattered figure leapt off of the bench he’d been sitting on and disable all of his tormentors. 

The recluse’s fingers flew over his keyboard, simultaneously saving the video feed and inputting a command for his creation to track the man with it’s facial recognition software. He had to find out who this person was…. _he had to!_ That done, Harold returned his attention to the video clip, replaying it and slowing it down so that he could see exactly what the vagrant did.

_Modified martial art techniques taught by the elite military groups, FBI and CIA._ Finch thought. The man was disabling rather than killing. Harold could clearly see in the slow motion video the wino pulling his punches at the last minute. He was choosing not to strike a fatal blow. Even when he grabbed the gang’s leader by the throat, the bum just stared him down for a moment before letting him drop to the floor of the car. 

His wolf ‘woke’ up, it's interest piqued by Harold’s reaction to another predator. _That’s it!_ He replayed the video at normal speed, the vagrant’s movements only a blur to the camera’s eye. Even with military training, a normal man’s reflexes wouldn’t be that good. This random, homeless drunk was a werewolf….

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

NOTES: Sorry this was a short one but I wanted to touch base with this story again so folks would know I'd not forgotten it. There will be more to come and the meeting between Reese and Finch will differ from the canon for obvious reasons. Thanks to everyone who has read this strange AU fic.


End file.
